Christmas Carol
by Severusgirl
Summary: A Christmas oneshot. Hermione has the hots for her exPotions Master and plans to grab him at the Dinner & Dance. Snape, however, is his usual self...


Merry Christmas to all my regular readers and everyone and anyone who has ever left me a review. 

This theme has been done many times on FFnet, I know, but each author has their own slant - this is mine.

A few apologies:

1) This story has not been betaread. Please excuse any spelling mistakes and British spelling.

2) to Ron fans. I love Ron really - in the real books. He just never seems to get a good press in mine. I don't know why.

3) to anyone who thinks I have mis-rated this story. I have rated it in good faith. I didn't think a smattering of four-letter words and a very unexplicit sex scene merited an 'R'.

4) to Richard Curtis for plagiarising four lines from '_Love Actually'_ (you'll know them when you see them). And of course to Charles Dickens.

**A CHRISTMAS CAROL**

The party was over to begin with.

At least it was for Severus Snape.

He'd never understood why the Headmaster had insisted on starting this crass tradition. No sooner had they got rid of the little bastards for the Christmas period, than Dumbledore was inviting the bigger, older bastards back to their old school for a Dinner and Dance reunion.

He had an awful feeling it was something to do with Potter. The golden boy. The hero of the hour - well, the century, actually.

It didn't matter that he, Severus Snape, had risked his life in the final battle two years ago, oh no. It was Potter who had eventually slain the Dark Lord, as of course it had to be. It was Potter who got the medals, the honours, the adulation...

Snape surveyed them all, mingling and chatting before him, the many dark and blonde heads punctuated frequently by a mop of red. Gods! Hadn't the Weasleys heard of contraception?

Then there was that awful know-it-all Granger, flaunting herself in that ridiculous 'Miss Santa' costume. Didn't she realise she was displaying her knickers every time she bent over too far? What had got into her, anyway? He had never considered her frivolous. He rather imagined her ending up in tweed, like Minerva.

The tables had been cleared away and the band began playing. Immediately the dancing area was filled with gyrating bodies.

Ye Gods! He actually felt himself turn green at the sight.

It was time to leave.

Pushing his chair away from the table, he stood up and caught sight, once again, of the golden trio mingling with a crowd of others.

Potter, as usual, was surrounded by fawning females. Weasley was drooling over some cosmetic-loving, half-clad little tart, and Granger was laughing with the female Weasley. Snape had never seen her like this - bubbly and sparkling. What had she done - taken a happy potion or something?

Then, without warning, as though she had felt him looking, Granger turned her head and caught his eye. Her smile did not waiver as she held his gaze for a second longer than necessary, and then looked away to continue chatting with her friend.

Over the years he had grown immune to the hatred which radiated from each and every pupil he had ever taught. In fact, he welcomed their dislike. It was a tribute to his powers that he was able to stir up such deep loathing.

But another part of him, a part buried so deep he had almost forgotten it, knew this deliberate cultivating of pupil enemies was a defence mechanism.

He hadn't been popular at school. He hadn't even been _liked_ at school. He was a loner, the one they all ridiculed and laughed about, played practical jokes on.

There had been one - Lily Evans - who had once shown him some kindness, but to his lasting regret, he had spat it back in her face, unused to friendly words and therefore totally uneducated in how to accept them.

Then there were his parents. A father who had held him to blame for his miserable life and a mother who could hardly bare to be in the same room as her son, let alone show affection.

So he told himself he had no need for the lighter emotions. He needed no one. He had grown a tough shell that allowed no one in and in the end, it had become easy, second-nature to spurn any act of friendship.

He scowled at the Granger and Weasley girl, knowing now they were talking and laughing about him. Well sod them all. He couldn't give a damn.

He passed the other members of staff on his way to the door. Each and everyone protesting his departure, but giving in with a 'Merry Christmas'. He responded with a barely audible 'goodnight'.

He had just reached the door when,

"Professor?"

He turned. Granger! That was all he needed.

What the hell was all that glittery stuff over her skin? And why did she feel the need to show so much cleavage? At least most of it was hidden behind the white fluffy trim of her outfit. Bloody ridiculous Santa hat, though.

"Hermione Granger, Professor. Do you remember me?"

Did he remember her? It had only been two years since she'd left the school, only a year since she was at the last Dinner and Dance.

"Yes, I remember you, Miss Granger," he replied silkily. "Brain too big for your head and teeth too big for your mouth..." He felt triumphant as her face collapsed and turned as red as her outfit. "Is there something you wish to discuss?"

"N...n...no...thank you, Prof..." She turned away quickly and went back to her little friend. That'll teach her to bitch about him in his presence.

He made it, thankfully, to the corridor and moved swiftly down to the dungeons, to his rooms, to peace and quiet and a bottle of firewhisky.

Just before he opened his door, however, he caught sight of his shadow on the heavy oak. He blinked and then blinked again. He surely was mistaken...

A face, not his own, was appearing in the grain of the wood.

"Why, hello there!"

He reeled backwards in shock, not able to take his eyes off the vision. What the hell was Gilderoy Lockhart doing on his door.

"You know, Severus, you're a bit of an annoying chap, upsetting people the way you do. It all stacks up, you know. It's like not bothering to put night cream on - you'll pay for it in the end, mark my words. It's bad enough that you bruise people with your nastiness and cut them with your snarkiness, but tonight you have hurt a tender young heart and I won't have it. You must change your ways or be damned for eternity, which is a pretty long time, I can tell you. At the stroke of midnight you will be visited by three ghosts. I'd listen to them if I were you."

Snape, whose black eyes had grown rounder by the second, blinked once more as the vision disappeared, and shook himself out of the stupor.

"Bloody sugar-plum fairy!"

He let himself into his quarters, had a few measures of whisky and then settled himself down for the night in his four poster bed.

-------------

At the stroke of midnight, a golden glow filled Snape's chambers, waking him with a start. He leaped from his bed and pulled on his dressing gown.

"What the devil...?"

Nearly Headless Nick looked at him askance.

"I am the ghost of Christmas past."

"No you're bloody not. You're the ghost of Gryffindor House. What the hell are you doing in my chambers?"

"I have come to help with your salvation. I shall take you back into the past. Come...take my hand..."

"Piss off. I always suspected you were a pervert."

But Nick grabbed Snape's arm, whisked him through the door and up into the Great Hall.

"The party is still going on?" said Snape in amazement. "It must be well after midnight."

"This is the party from the year before - last Christmas. Watch and listen."

Snape wandered around the excited throng, neither seen nor heard. He could see himself sitting at the staff table looking as miserable as sin amongst a row of beaming teachers, all enjoying themselves.

_"Bloody hell,"_ he thought. _"I didn't realise I looked _that_ bad. I really am a sad old git."_

He turned away, the sight disturbing him.

Ah, the golden trio. A chance to eavesdrop on their prattlings.

"You are joking!" said Weasley, looking at Potter in awe. "You're Susie Jeans' Secret Santa? Blimey, what did you get her?"

"What else? A snazzy little thong she can wear just for me. Who'd you get?"

"Luna Lovegood," said Weasley with a sigh. "Got her a book called 'Lifestyle Management'."

The others snorted.

"Very imaginative, Ron. How about you, Hermione? Who'd you get?"

"Oh, does it matter. It's supposed to be a secret, isn't it? That's why its called 'Secret Santa'."

The two boys looked at each other and grinned.

"Come on, Hermione, who'd you get?" said Potter, cajoling her.

"Yeah, why won't you tell us? Is it me?" said Weasley, hopefully.

"No, it isn't you," she said, pulling herself away from his hand. "If you must know...it's Professor Snape."

There was an explosion of laughter from the two boys.

"Oh...oh...you really did get the short straw..."

"Hope you wrapped something that'll spring out and clamp itself to his nose."

"Or some poisoned chocolates."

Snape moved away in a daze. _Granger_ had been his Secret Santa last year? But that meant it was _she _who'd given him those wonderful thick gloves that had shielded his hands from thorns whilst cutting supplies for his store room. And the cream that had soothed his fingers and rid them of the ugly callouses caused by cauldron heat and potion ingredients.

It had been the most practical, useful and thoughtful gift he'd ever received and yet, he'd not given a thought as to who had supplied it.

_Granger?_

He turned back to look at her. She was talking to the Weasley girl, just as she had this evening...or rather, next year...oh whatever.

He moved closer.

"You can't be serious?"

"Yes, I am. I think there's something rather tragic and noble about him. I think he secretly wants to be liked."

"He certainly goes the right way about it."

"He has a core of goodness, though. I mean, he fought for our side in the war. He was a hero-"

"Harry was the hero," Weasley corrected her.

"There were other heroes too," Granger answered sharply.

"Well, I don't believe you're actually going to ask him to dance with you. I'll give you ten galleons if you do."

"You're on! I shall take him a firewhisky and then ask him."

Granger turned towards the staff table with a determined air. She had barely got half way, when he saw himself get up from the table and leave the room, actually barging past Granger on the way - not even acknowledging her, jogging the firewhisky over her hand.

She looked surprised more than anything else as she watched him disappear through the doors.

And then she downed the firewhisky in one.

"She spent a long time searching for those gifts she gave you," said Nearly Headless Nick.

Snape tried to look as though he couldn't care less.

"And she had spent a great deal of time defending you against the insulting remarks of her friends."

"Well, I didn't ask her to, did I?" Snape snarled, feeling more guilty than he cared to admit. "Why should she bother?"

"Perhaps an intelligent mind such as yours could figure that out for yourself."

-----------------

Snape suddenly found himself back in his own bed. How he got there, he couldn't say. You couldn't aparate inside Hogwarts.

A cackling noise could be heard from the other side of the bed hangings. Snape knelt up and parted them.

Peeves was hanging upside down from the ceiling.

"Oooh is His Snarkiness awake?"

"Watch your tongue, Peeves."

"OK." Peeves stuck his tongue out and looked down at it, cross-eyed.

"Is there a good reason why you're here?" sighed Snape.

"Oh, yes," Peeves smacked his lips and recited, rather unconvincingly, "I am the ghost of Christmas present."

"Oh Gods..."

"You must come with me to witness the merrymaking."

"Must I?"

"Or I can bring the whole thing to your Chambers..."

"Let us go." Snape replied, hastily.

They were back in the Great Hall. The dancing had begun. Once again Snape found himself standing next to the Granger girl, dressed in the Miss Santa outfit, which seemed, now he looked again, to be quite fetching. She was talking to the Weasley girl.

"Hermione, that was a year ago. You can't still be on this idiotic fancy."

"It's not a fancy," said Granger, simply. "I suppose I've always admired him; his solidness, his vast knowledge of his subject, and then of course his heroics in the war. I don't think he's been given the recognition he deserves. I think he could be rather nice. He just hasn't met the right woman yet."

The Weasley girl looked shocked. "You don't mean _you_? Hermione, you've had too much alcohol."

"I've had one firewhisky, thank you."

"I'll give you twenty galleons if you ask him to dance this year."

"Oh, I'm looking for more than that this year," smiled Granger.

"Ewwww, no. Not the greasy git-"

"Don't call him that!" said Granger, sharply. "Just...don't call him that."

"Why not? _You_ used to."

"I don't believe I ever did. It was always Ron and Harry. I've always had a respect for his knowledge at least, despite his attitude. He just needs some tender loving care, that's all."

"You'd have more luck straightening out a gay guy," laughed Ginny.

"Miracles happen at Christmas," said Granger. She gave a big beautiful smile and turned to look at the Snape at the staff table.

"And at Christmas you can tell the truth," sneered the girl Weasley, "and I'm telling you the truth now; not only are you sounding totally unlike Hermione, you're as mad as Trelawney. '_Miracles happen at Christmas'_, tch!"

"See you later," said Granger, picking up an extra firewhisky. "Or not, if I'm lucky."

He watched as Granger walked over to where his own self was heading towards the door, his heart beating faster as he realised what was about to happen.

"Professor? Hermione Granger, Professor. Do you remember me?"

He felt panic, what could he do to stop himself spouting those insults.

He sprang forward and tried to put his hand over his double's mouth, but of course, it went right through.

"Yes, I remember you Miss Granger..."

_"NOOOOO, YOU FOOL!"_

He watched in horror as her beautiful face fell with mortification at his words. Gods how he wanted to kick his own butt out the door. Stupid, stupid...

He turned back to Granger. "Please forgive my manners...I had no idea..." he said, desperately.

But she looked through him as if he wasn't there - which of course he wasn't, and he saw her eyes filling with tears. He'd hurt her. He'd hurt her after she'd been so defensive about him, so nice about him. It was Lily Evans all over again.

------------

He woke with a start to find himself once again in his own bed. Trembling, he threw himself from the bed. If he was quick, he might catch the end of the party, find her and apologise. Perhaps even have that dance as a peace-offering.

Unthinking, he caught up his dressing gown and moved swiftly to the door...

"Aaaahhhhhhhh..."

All the air seemed to be punched out of him as he almost collided with the figure standing just outside his Quarters.

There was only one figure who could cause an almost bladder-emptying reaction in the cold, emotionless Potions master.

Robed entirely in black, the hood of his cloak falling forward of his face to mask him, stood the Dark Lord.

Snape was about to fall to his knees in fear until common sense caught up with him and he realised - Potter had killed the Dark Lord. He was no more. This, however terrifying, was not the real thing.

Still shaking badly, he moistened his lips before saying, much braver than he felt,

"I have been shown Christmas past and present. One can only assume you are here to show me Christmas yet to come."

The figure merely turned and walked towards the stairs. Snape followed.

The Dinner and Dance.

Potter and a smattering of Weasleys, Longbottom and a few other faces Snape vaguely recognised.

"I reckon his heart just shrivelled and turned black," said a Weasley.

"I reckon it was like that all ready," laughed Potter, and the others joined in.

"So when's the funeral?"

"Oh it's all ready taken place. They did it the day after. Didn't want him hanging around over Christmas."

"Don't suppose there was anyone there."

"Just Dumbledore and a handful of other teachers apparently. Suppose they felt it their duty."

"I was there."

Everyone turned.

Granger was standing, unsteadily, on the edge of the circle. She was no longer dressed as Miss Santa, but in a long black robe.

"You were there? What for?"

"To pay my last respects, and I think it's really bad of you all not to have been there too." Her voice was thick with emotion and alcohol. "He may not have had the kindest disposition, but he got you all through your OWLS and some of you even got top marks in your NEWTS. You don't think you managed them on your own, do you?"

"Well, I think the school's gonna be a nicer place without him around. I envy the students not having him as the Potions master anymore. Hey, I wonder who's taking over?"

"I am," said Granger, defiantly.

Everyone, including Snape, stared at her in disbelief.

"And if I'm half the teacher he was, I shall be proud." Her eyes wet, she swept away and almost ran out of the door.

Snape found himself going after her, and then realised someone else was running after her too.

"Leave her, Weasley, I'll deal with this."

But Weasley couldn't hear him, and just kept on after her.

The room swirled and Snape found himself walking down the familiar corridor towards his store room. He quaked at the sight of the Dark Lord standing silently before the door, pointing into the room.

Snape licked his lips and swallowed before saying, "Before I go in there, tell me spirit; are these the things that _will_ happen, or are they merely shadows of what _might_ happen?"

The spirit said nothing but continued to point.

Snape glanced uneasily at the door, hesitating before pushing the door open and peering inside.

The sight that met his eyes made him reel backwards, and he tumbled out of the room, leaning heavily against the stone wall. His breath came out in painful gasps and he buried his face in his hands as he sank to the floor.

Her eyes had been so blank, as though she couldn't have cared less what was happening to her. There was no emotion towards Weasley whatsoever. She was just letting him...well, _hump_ her, basically.

What they were doing in there - no - what _Weasley_ was doing in there could not be described as 'making love', or even 'having sex'. He was _humping_ her, and she was just lying there letting it happen, with absolutely no involvement whatsoever.

From the pit of his belly a whirlwind of anger pushed its way up through his body until he stood, and with a roar, burst back into the room and steamed towards them.

"She's vulnerable you little shit, leave her alone." He grabbed hold of Weasley's shirt, trying to pull him off her.

"It was always you and me, Hermione...you know that. I'll take care of you, I promise. I'll make it better." Weasley panted, Snape's attack not affecting him in the slightest. "Oh Hermione!" he spluttered. "Will you marry me?"

"OK." she answered, listlessly.

"Arrrrrrrrr!"

Snape found himself grasping at the bed hangings, almost ripping them from the pole before he realised where he was and what he was doing.

Almost in a fever, he snatched up the clock, seeing it was nine o'clock - but _when?_

Dressing with a wave of his wand, he rushed from his chambers and up the stairs to the Great Hall.

A couple were coming out of the door.

"You two - what's going on in there?"

The couple looked at him, startled.

"It's...it's the Reunion Dinner and Dance...the band's about to begin."

He hadn't missed it! He hadn't missed it!

He walked into the hall and stared above the many heads towards the staff table. His place was empty. Quickly he made his way there, feeling lighter than he'd ever felt before. On his way to his seat, he touched each member of staff on the shoulder, smiling and wishing them a merry Christmas. They looked shocked, but then smiled and wished him merry Christmas in return.

Collapsing in the chair, he searched the room for her, and found her quickly, his eyes fully appreciating the - yes, admit it, Severus - _sexy_ Santa outfit she was wearing.

And then it happened - she turned and smiled at him, holding his gaze for...quite some time actually, because he found himself unable to look away from that beautiful face and that wonderful smile - and he was smiling back.

When she finally turned back to her friend, he got up and left the table, crossing the floor, pushing his way through the throng, until he reached her.

Miss Weasley spluttered a cough as she saw him standing behind her friend. Miss Granger turned, saw it was him, and blushed becomingly.

"Miss Granger." He gave her a little bow. "I wonder if you would do me the honour of a dance?"

Miss Granger looked from side to side. "Are you sure?"

"Unless you'd rather not."

"No...I mean, yes, I'd love to." She turned and handed Miss Weasley her glass of wine.

"I apologise," he said as he led her to the dance floor. "But I am not well versed in modern dance,"

"Neither am I," she smiled, and put her hand on his shoulder as his went around her waist.

They danced in silence for a little while.

"I believe I have you to thank for the gloves and the hand cream last year," he said.

"Oh, how did you find out?" she squeaked.

"A little eavesdropping. They were very much appreciated - thank you."

"The cream worked, then?" she said, letting her fingers play in and out of his own. "They feel lovely and smooth."

His heart quickened. Her touch enthralled him. She looked up at him.

"You dance very well, Professor."

"Oh, it's merely shuffling around the floor, isn't it?" he said, feeling for the first time in his life, bashful.

She was so...feminine - her hair, her smooth skin, her perfume. She'd put lipstick on to match the red of her Santa outfit (which he was appreciating more and more as the evening went on), and her hair that wasn't covered by the Santa hat, was sparkling with what looked like snowflakes.

"You are aware people are staring at us?" he said, worried that she would get teased mercilessly for dancing with the Potions master.

"I don't care," she said, moving closer to him in defiance. Then she looked up at him again. "Oh - unless you do, of course."

"No."

Her eyes were alight and smiling into his, her body pressing up against him, and he thought for a tiny moment that the rest of the room had disappeared, that they were alone and the music played just for them.

He felt his blood stirring.

"Er..." He cleared his throat. "But perhaps you would care for a drink?"

She shook her head. "A walk. It's getting a bit too noisy in here."

His hand moved to the small of her back as they walked from the dance floor.

"Just let me get my handbag..."

As they were approaching the door, a girl grabbed Hermione by the arm, stopping her.

"Hermione, here..." She handed Hermione a present before delving into a sack. "And...Professor, I believe this one is for you." They both looked bewildered at the girl. "Your Secret Santa gifts."

"What do you think you've got?" asked Hermione as they wandered down a corridor.

"Well," he said, squeezing the gift. "Judging from the size and the softness, I'd guess socks." He tore a corner of the paper. "Ah yes, of course - Gryffindor red."

She laughed and held up her own present. "I think this might be a tin of biscuits," she said.

Snape looked in horror at the impatiently wrapped present, knowing full well it contained a tin of ginger newts given to him last year by Minerva. He had completely forgotten he had drawn Hermione's name out of the Secret Santa hat this year and had dragged out the tin that had been mouldering in the back of his cupboard.

"Um...before you open that..."

"We could have a cup of coffee?" she said, quickly.

He stared at her.

"Your rooms are just along here, aren't they?" she said, looking at him steadily.

He stared at her.

"Professor," she laughed. "I'm only suggesting coffee."

He shook himself. "Coffee...yes of course." He gave a confused frown. "In my Quarters?"

"Uh hu."

"Er, do you have any idea how that might look?"

"To who?" she whispered, looking around in mock suspicion at the empty corridor. "You or me? Because there's no one else around."

He bowed his head slowly in agreement.

He unlocked the door to his quarters and they entered. She threw her handbag onto the sofa and put her parcel on the table. He called for a house elf to fetch the coffee.

As they sat at the table, sipping their drinks, she put her hand on her parcel. "Can I unwrap this now?"

"Actually, no."

After what had passed, he would not allow her to open a gift of mouldy biscuits. He took out his wand, and after thinking for a moment, tapped the top of the parcel.

"Now you may."

"So my suspicions were right - you _are_ my Secret Santa."

He watched as she tore the paper.

"It _is_ biscuits," she smiled.

"Open the tin."

She did - and gasped.

"What...?" She pulled out a mound of pale blue silk, and then another. "Silk pyjamas?" She looked at him suspiciously. "Have you been reading my mind?"

"I don't know, have I?"

"I've had my eye on these for weeks." She stood up and held the top up against her. "They're beautiful. Thank you so much."

He saw her delighted face and gave a smile. It felt good, this giving lark. In all honesty, he didn't know where the idea had come from. It had just popped into his head so he supposed he must have picked it up from her mind somehow.

Now he thought about it though, it was rather a clumsy gift to give to a woman just after she'd stepped into ones chambers. Damn! He'd fucked up. He went to apologise but found her looking at him with a rather naughty smile.

"I...wish I could wear them now."

A sudden heat rushed to his face - not only because of the implication, but also because he'd all ready been picturing her in them.

He was speechless.

She smiled again, turned and went to the sofa for her handbag.

"I do have something for you," she said, bending over to delve into her bag.

Oh Gods! Seamed tights.

His eyes travelled appreciatively up the seams, catching a brief glimpse of red lace at the top which set his blood racing. He shifted awkwardly in his chair, wondering if he should stop this now but, he really, really didn't want to. She turned back to him.

"That's..." He cleared his throat. "That's a very fetching outfit you're wearing."

"You like it?"

"Very much so."

She smiled. "It's for you."

He blinked. "S...sorry?"

She shimmed over to him and bent low towards his ear. "It's all for you - Sir," she whispered. She lowered herself onto his lap and handed him a flat, oblong envelope.

Still completely stunned by her last utterance, he took the envelope as though in a trace, and opened it. He hardly registered the flat piece of cardboard with hanging string attached, until he read the words:

_'DO NOT DISTURB'_

"I thought we could hang it on the outside of your chambers." She slinked her arms around his neck. "You're not the only one who can practise Legilimancy, you know." She smiled and raised her lips to his.

"Are you reading my mind now?" he murmured a few minutes later.

"I don't have to," she whispered back. "I believe we may be thinking the same thing."

He smiled. "It's the door behind us, on the right."

"What?"

"The bedroom."

"Oh! Then we _are_ thinking the same thing".

---------

_Your imaginations may go with Hermione and Severus beyond the bedroom door if you wish, but here, dear reader, my story ends. Except to say that Snape was redeemed and they all lived happily ever after._

_Merry Christmas and God bless us, every one._


End file.
